Page 24 of The Beginning (Covert Moon, #1)

Eamonn

The Fae Realm

* * *

I leaned back, staring at the desk which overflowed with paperwork.

Two months after my demotion from the King's Guard, two months after I took over as the Captain of the Watchers—well, one month.

It'd taken Connar a good month to bring me up to speed with everything that would fall under my responsibility.

So, two months since my demotion, one month since I began running this odd mixture of fae guardsmen.

I thought I understood better now some of the attitudes of weariness of the former captain.

The paperwork alone was enough to kill a man.

Supply requisitions, patrol reports, incident summaries, budget requests—it never seemed to end.

Each form led to three more, each report demanded a follow-up.

I'd had a clerk for half the month I'd been in charge, but he'd been transferred out.

Probably at his request because the paperwork was enough to drive him into some level of mania as well. It was doing that for me.

The poor bastard had lasted exactly two weeks before he'd started showing up with that wild look in his eyes, muttering about forms in triplicate and filing systems that made no sense.

I couldn't blame him. Hell, I'd probably have requested a transfer too if I'd been in his boots.

At least he'd gotten out before the paperwork consumed what was left of his soul.

So far, another clerk hadn't materialized.

All the rest of the Watchers were keeping far away on my paperwork days, as they knew if they lingered too long, they'd be drafted into service.

I hadn't found the heart to sentence anyone new to the task.

I'd needed to. Maybe tomorrow. As much as I hated to put this on another man, I had to.

Or I would die in a mountain of parchment.

Truth was, watching grown men flee at the sight of ledger books and quill pens had become one of my few sources of entertainment.

Yesterday, I'd seen Chester—a man who'd faced down armed bandits without flinching—practically sprint in the opposite direction when he'd spotted me organizing files.

It would've been funnier if it wasn't so pathetic.

I pushed away from the desk, not willing to stare at the parchment mountain any longer.

The stack seemed to mock me, growing taller each day despite my efforts to whittle it down.

For every document I completed, two more appeared.

It was like fighting a hydra, but instead of heads, it sprouted forms requiring my signature.

Leaning back, I put my hands behind my head and contemplated the subject that'd become my top priority, other than paperwork.

I'd had plenty of time the past two months to think about how I ended up here.

How I should've seen all this coming. The signs had been there, if I'd bothered to look.

If I'd paid attention to what was happening right under my nose.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? I'd been too focused on my own concerns, my own future, to notice that my best friend was unraveling. Too caught up in thoughts of polished boots and promotion prospects to see that Gavin was drowning in his own misery.

I thought back to the time several weeks before the fateful day when Gavin disappeared with Lady Annaliese. Gavin had come to me where I sat in the King's Guards' quarters. I'd been polishing my boots, the black boots I was so fond of. Those damned boots that'd seemed so important then.

I glanced at my feet, snorting at the thought of the black boots now.

With the work that I was doing, they wouldn't last a day.

Not out in the remote countryside, with dirt and dust. I might've died trying to keep them polished.

Death by paperwork or boot blacking. It didn't seem a good choice either way.

The boots I wore now were practical—brown leather, scuffed and worn, designed for function rather than appearance.

They suited my new reality better than those pristine black boots ever had.

Sometimes I wondered if that change in footwear was symbolic of everything else that'd shifted in my life.

From appearance to substance, from ceremony to survival.

Back on that day, Gavin had approached me, looking nervously to either side of him. I should've recognized that nervous energy for what it was—desperation. But I'd been distracted, focused on getting those boots to the proper shine for evening inspection.

"Eamonn, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I didn't look up from my polishing. Just jerked my head to one side. "Sure. Have a seat. We've got time before dinner." I remember wondering why he sounded so formal but was too lazy to look up at him. The boots needed to be finished soon.

Now, looking back, I could hear the strain in his voice. The way his words came out clipped and careful, like he'd rehearsed them. But at the time, all I'd cared about was getting the leather to gleam properly.

What an ass I'd been.

"Eamonn, I've fallen in love."

That'd gotten my attention, at least partially.

"Is the lucky lady aware of it?" I did look at him then, grinning.

Gavin was rather shy, slow to speak his thoughts and emotions.

Some attributed it to a lack of common sense, but he wasn't always comfortable with speaking up.

He preferred to wait until he was sure in his thoughts before doing so.

It was one of the things I'd always respected about him—that careful consideration.

While I was quick to speak, sure that I knew best, and sometimes quicker to regret it, Gavin measured his words.

Made them count. Which should've told me how serious this was, how much it meant to him to be sharing it with me.

Gavin leaned forward, his excitement radiating off him. "She is. I mean, she does. I mean—she loves me too! We love one another!"

The joy in his voice had been so pure, so genuine.

I remembered thinking at the time that I'd never seen him quite so animated.

His usual reserved demeanor had cracked, and underneath was this burning intensity that'd surprised me.

This wasn't some passing fancy or mild infatuation.

This was the real thing, at least for him.

I set down the boot I was holding and clapped him on the shoulder with my clean hand. "Congratulations, man! When will you see her father and make it official?"

Being a member of the King's Guard was a good position. It meant that we, as guardsmen, were a good match for a woman of the Fae Realm. Perhaps not a lady of the court, but I never looked twice at them. No sense. They were far beyond me, and I had Wenda. I wanted no one else..

But as King’s Guards? We were solid, reliable choices.

Not ridiculously wealthy, but comfortable and honorable.

We served the crown directly, had the king's trust, earned good wages.

Most fathers would've been pleased to have their daughters courted by King's Guards.

Most fathers. But as I'd learn, Lady Annaliese's father wasn't most fathers.

I knew all this because over the last year, after I’d been promoted to the King’s Guards, and Wenda had become a lady’s companion, she’d shared with me some of what she’d learned about the members of the court.

Their lives were so different from ours.

By then she and I had begun to talk in terms of a future, of plans.

The idea delighted me far more than any court gossip.

I'd been considering our future for some time, and I was pleased that she seemed to have gotten to the same place.

Wenda and I had been taking long walks when we could get the time together, talking about the kind of life we wanted to build.

She'd mentioned wanting a house with a garden, somewhere she could grow herbs and flowers.

I'd imagined coming home to her each evening, sharing stories of my day while she told me about hers.

Simple dreams, but they'd felt so real, so achievable. That was before everything fell apart.

At the time, I’d hoped for the same for Gavin.

"Well, that is where the problem lies. Her father will not approve." Gavin twisted his hands together, his shoulders hunching and the excitement fading from his voice.

And there it was. The first crack in his happiness, the beginning of the desperation that'd eventually drive him to do something so reckless it'd destroy both our lives.

I should've seen it then—the way his whole body seemed to deflate, how his eyes lost their light.

This wasn't just disappointment. This was devastation.

"How can you be sure? You're a member of the King's Guard! You've been hand-chosen by the king himself! What more honor would a family need?"

Instead of cheering him, my words seemed to make him even more depressed. "You would think that, but not all fathers are the same, Eamonn."

There'd been something in his tone, a bitterness that should've warned me.

This wasn't just about a father's natural protectiveness or concerns about his daughter's future.

This was about something deeper—politics, perhaps, or family alliances that went beyond simple affection.

But I'd been too naive to understand the complexities of court life, too focused on the simple logic of merit and honor.

"You must try, Gavin. Do the honorable thing and speak with her father."

His face creased into worry and misery. "I haven’t spoken with her father, but she has. He has hinted that he has another match in store for her, someone he seems to feel would be more beneficial."